


Waking the Witch

by squishyflamingo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Hogwarts Mystery
Genre: Freeform, Hufflepuff, Multi, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, POV Original Female Character, Swearing, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 18:00:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17085065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squishyflamingo/pseuds/squishyflamingo
Summary: You must wake up - wake up!





	Waking the Witch

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd, un-britpicked, and a lot of the plot is obviously unknown to us still faithful to the Hogwarts Mystery grind, so do not mind my sorry attempt at barely patching holes!!
> 
> Happy Holidays y'all. :) Hugs & kisses.

Shadowy shapes of magical creatures come alive across every corner of Jacob’s room, depicting a brave young wizard defending himself against the looming cutout silhouette of a snapping cockatrice, dark limbs of twisted forest trees stretching over your brother’s string theory board, the sill of the only window in this little secret hideaway, and the glittering eyes of your many familiars.

 

You inhale, taking your  _Lumos_ illuminated wand away from the bewitched stencil Jacob had gifted you when you were 10. Those were simpler times, before you’d stepped through the 9 ¾ platform column at King’s Cross, boarded the Hogwarts Express to Scotland, faced the doors Jacob Y/L/N crossed the threshold of, into halls he still seemed to haunt.

 

When Penny threw herself into finding a way to save her kid sister Beatrice from being trapped in that painting you’d never felt such a connection, an empathy, toward anyone else at school, not even Rowan.

 

Myron’s words to you in the potions classroom, practically drunk off giddiness from the Cheering Charm he'd cast on you alongside the other Weird Sisters, echoed up from underneath your ribs and heart, urging you to admit to the other Hufflepuff that you fancied her. That you cherished everything she stood for.

 

And then there, in the Artefact Room that had seen almost everyone’s blood, sweat, tears and fears, Penny had cupped your jaw with hands soft yet slightly calloused from years of making potions to carefully, regretfully explain that being a couple was too dangerous. That her own feelings were muddled.

 

You loathed with every fiber of your being, your magic, that she was bloody right. Penny Haywood was half-muggle, and one of her best muggle friends had been killed by her two worlds colliding. Beatrice hadn’t been at the school passed the sorting ceremony until she was hand-picked as a fresh lamb to the slaughter from your circle to test your mettle against the next Cursed Vault.

 

The poor girl was probably regretting even coming to this school, and why the hell would Hogwart’s Golden Girl want to be romantically entangled with the most cursed person there? If Penny didn’t regret her heritage, Snape himself was right, smug git - Penny had so much promise to become a remarkable witch and nearly threw that all away as she drifted from reality, getting lost in this bad dream.

 

She still had a chance not to be drug down into the depths with you.

 

Following your disaster of a confession you had parted amicably, but despite both your efforts to not tell anyone, the school obviously had numerous eyes and ears.

 

And meddling ghosts.

 

It all started with sweet Rowan. She really had tried to be subtle after she found you coming out of one of your last detentions for the year in the kitchens with Jae Kim.

 

The Gryffindor had been oddly attentive and kept offering you some sort of end-of-the-school-year blowout deal on Knockturn Alley contraband. Then Ro strolled up, chewing her lower lip and adjusting her glasses, which were nervous tics of hers you’d picked up on over your time together.

 

“Ah, h-hello, Jae.”

 

“Khanna,” Jae acknowledged, not unkindly, but he made a subtle gesture with his hand in the universal sign of, ‘not the greatest timing.’

 

Despite this your fellow Hufflepuff continued to over-enthusiastically prattle on about a quill set she wanted to look at Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop in Hogsmeade, then maybe you could go to the Three Broomsticks, and _wouldn’t it be great to go this weekend?_

 

You had politely declined, making an excuse so you could stay in and possibly sleep forever. Rowan immediately blurted out in a panic, “Please, Y/F/N, I’ve never seen you like this! I’ve read up on whatever I could get my hands on about getting over heartbreak, but I’m absolutely pants at it, and I know Penny would-” Then Ro’s hands clapped over her mouth, probably wishing she could use _Silencio_ on herself in that moment.

 

You sighed, assuring her it was fine because she was just being a good mate, then connected the dots to her fretting and Jae’s own overtly chummy behavior.

 

After a highly stimulating History of Magic class, where you’d partially fulfilled your wish of sleeping forever by getting a nice kip in, Tulip, Tonks and Diego cornered you about a fantastic prank they had in mind to upstage Merula’s _Engorgio_ charmed niffler.

 

“Morgan’s mist, I know it’s been more dull than Binn’s lecture’s this year, but they’ll have my Prefect badge!” you said with a sad laugh.

 

Tonks frowned deeply, elbowing Tulip to convince you otherwise, and Diego was laying on his usual venerable coercion.

 

Why were they acting like there were flobberworms in their-

 

Oh. _Oh…_

 

Badeaa had asked if you’d like to help her with a new spell, which had actually been the most therapeutic distraction - Andre took you shopping at Gladrags Wizardware when Ro was too busy tutoring Barnaby to join you in Hogsmeade.

 

The Weasleys, bless their cottons, were the embodiment of Mrs. Weasley herself, mothering you incessantly at every turn. Charlie and Bill have become irreplaceable surrogate siblings to you. Even Percy had let you hold Scabbers while you were studying for your O.W.L.s with the brothers in the library.

 

Then the gobby little miscreant had bit your thumb.

 

Unfortunately, a yawning chasm remained in your chest, like an endless Extension Charm.

 

You bury your chin further into the plush purple and orange Pride of Portree scarf Andre had gifted you, curling up on the ledge of that small arched window in Jacob’s room.

 

To fill that void you bought Skimbleshanks the orange tabby, Jason Funderberker the toad, Jareth the barn owl, Magpie the niffler (with the help of Liz and Hagrid), your bowtruckle Barnaby Jr…

 

The other girls in your dorm had started to complain about the overabundance of animals, even though most of them were animal lovers themselves. You’d argued that Barnaby Jr. at least stayed at his wand wood tree, but when Rowan had sat on your bed with a pitying look and tried to broach the subject again you had gathered your critters and fled, feeling utterly alone.

 

And you’d done it to yourself. What an absolute bellend.

 

So, here you are. Fingers buried in Skimbleshank’s fur as he purrs up a storm, Jason catching flies, Magpie off nicking something from an unsuspecting student, and Jareth mindfully surveying the room.

 

There’s a familiar voice outside the door. Of course Merula knew; word had probably spread like wildfire. And she would go straight to a hiding spot that not all of your friends knew the exact location of, since her and Tulip had found this place originally.

 

Without considering the consequences you feel your bones shifting, muscle and sinew reshaping until your Animagus dog form hides its muzzle between your little forepaws, ears back.

 

Maybe she’d be merciful seeing you like this. You’d gotten closer during Rakepick’s tutelage, but she was still an unrepentant troll.

 

As the door finally opens you don’t see Merula, you just hear her exasperated voice as she grouses, “You abandoned us for the whingy git, so go be a ‘friend’ and shut her up or her moping will drive us all spare.”

 

Followed by the door slamming shut loudly.

 

So, there stood Barnaby Lee, squinting in the dark, with something tucked into the crook of his left arm. He takes his wand from his back pocket with his free arm, casts _Lumos_ , and if it was not already lit up by the charm, his face would be glowing with happiness.

 

“Y/F/N! Is this your Animagus form?”

 

You tentatively uncurl as Skimbleshanks hops off the window ledge, arches into a content stretch, investigating the young man with a tentative sniff of his shoes.

 

The uncharacteristically caring Slytherin sets down his precious cargo, which turns out is Magpie happily gazing at Barnaby’s shiny silver rings (B’s seemed to have parted from them without much fuss), and before you can change back he asks so genuinely, “Can I...pet you?”

 

 _Bloody hell_ , you think, as he doesn’t mean it in any way other than purely innocent, but your doggy body gives an involuntary shiver and you happily bump your muzzle into one of his big, gentle hands.

 

It melts your insides, Barnaby’s deep and genuine laughter, like treacle.

 

You transform when he’s done, flustered but feeling loads better, and hug him tight.

 

He doesn’t hesitate to return the gesture, and doesn’t put up any pretenses, launching into a surprisingly mature and realistic string of assurances about your friendships being strong enough to withstand things like this. You’re all young, still sussing out love from admiration, hero worship and things of that nature.

 

You find solace in the crook of his neck, tranquility more effective than a Draught of Peace washing over you in waves. You lean back, taking the young man in.

 

“Well, since you’ve helped me I think that warrants me giving you some unsolicited dating advice.”

 

Barnaby tilts his head, accompanied by an adorably perplexed look that you’ve come to covet. “It does?”

 

You barely hold back a grin, gathering up those zouwu-sized fists in yours. “Whether you like it or not, yes. Ismelda Murk is mad for you, and I reckon you should talk to her about it. ‘Cause if I have to overhear her whispering about your ‘sparkling eyes and chiseled cheekbones’ one more time I may throw myself at the Whomping Willow.”

 

It takes a second for your schoolmate to answer, staring at where you’ve connected the both of you together, before he says breezily, “Oh, we’ve already talked about that. She’s one of my best mates still, but Mer, her and I have been going through stuff with our parents, y’know, and there’s a lot of anger she needs to work out. So we’re gonna practice more during Dueling Club, which I think might be good. I’ll be there for her when she feels really sad, a’course. In the end I’m really not much to write home about.” He shrugs.

 

You could catch flies for Jason right then and there with how long you sit like a daft mooncalf in shock.

 

“Barnaby - oh, I wish I knew your middle name - _LEE_.”

 

The young wizard is taken aback by your ire. “It’s Ulric.”

 

“Ta, but that’s not the point. The point is you’re amazing, B. Legitimately the toughest duelist in our year, if not in the entirety of Hogwarts bar Bill. I wanted to get you from Merula because I saw she was using that strength for her own gain. A selfish part of me that’s done a lot of growing up wanted that for myself, and then you came to me, and...you sort of saved me.”

 

Barnaby points to himself in disbelief.

 

_In for a knut, in for a galleon._

 

“Yes. I thought...Slytherins were, frankly...Irredeemable. And I was humbled by you. You taught me...don’t judge a book by its cover. Unless it’s the _Monster Book of Monsters_ …You aren’t just powerful, you’re protective. _That’s_ why you seek power. _That’s_ why Merula and Ismelda will always be your friends. You care so much. About magical creatures, too! You’re not just Barnaby Lee, a Slytherin, the son of a Death Eater.

 

“Plus, ever since Rakepick put us through the proverbial gauntlet Merula doesn’t want to hex me as much as she used to. I’m still not certain Ismelda trusts me after Merula and I worked together, though...What I’m trying to say is you _are_ something to write home about. Easier said than done to let yourself accept it, but I hope you can take anything negative anyone, especially your dad, has said about you and smash those expectations. Just understand that I believe you can do it.”

 

Several emotions try to assert themselves on Barnaby’s expressive features until he hugs you again, so tightly.

 

Barnaby acts as a human Remembrall to remind you that you are not alone at all. And you are loved.

 

\-----

 

The Cursed Vault has been solved and a new set of clues awaits your attention. Instead of going full pelt into research with Rowan you keep them stashed away with the strongest charm you’d learned from private lessons with Flitwick - the _Anti-Alohomora Charm_ \- to go celebrate freeing Beatrice Haywood and finishing your O.W.Ls.

 

Your Headmaster had turned up, as he is wont to do, at the 11th hour to provide you with more enigmatic instruction.

 

_“The truth. It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should be therefore be treated with caution.”_

 

The Fat Friar finds you on your way into the Hufflepuff common room, giving you a gentle congratulations, then you find Penny planting obnoxious kisses all over Beatrice’s face as she squirms.

 

“Peeeeeenny,” she pushes her older sister away, “I was already suffocated by Madam Pomphrey’s hovering and Headmaster Dumbledore’s questions. Also, does he normally pop in and out during the school year like that?”

 

Beatrice’s group of first, second and third year friends titter softly.

 

You produce the now infamous magical map from your jeans pocket, gathering their attention. “Dumbledore may have conveniently ‘forgotten’ to confiscate this from me. I reckon after being so well behaved we’re due for a bit of mischief. Sorry that it’s not a curse-breaking adventure, Beatrice.”

 

She cringes, her friends outright cackling.

 

Tonks crows, “Get in, Y/L/N! Let’s grab whatever we need and meet the others outside, they’ll be chuffed to bits.”

 

Penny flicks her wand with a giddy _Accio turntable!_ And the muggle apparatus pops into existence. Then, _Accio records!_

 

You are all in wonder of the device, quite different than the magical gramophone on McGonagall’s desk, as she explains, “I have to bring this. It has a lot of celebratory meaning to me. It’s how my mum and dad met. Dad will never admit that he was at that muggle record store in London out on the pull, but there she was. Looking like this American bird, a pop singer - Madonna! Hair short as yours, Tonks - he said she was like an ethereal fairy.” Penny sways a little as she recalls the story fondly, turning the records in her hand, then chooses three of them with her younger sister’s input.

 

You sidle up to her on the way out of the common room, beaming. “I heard _someone_ got an O on their potions exam, surprising no one. And on nearly every other exam they had.”

 

Penny sticks her tongue out. “ _Nearly_. Some of us didn’t get an O in Defence Against the Dark Arts like CERTAIN people. Rowan is the real star of our year. Did anyone else get an O in Study of Ancient Runes AND Arithmancy?”

 

“Mate, other than our own William Weasley, no one’s gotten an O in those subjects besides our current professors and the Hogwarts founders.” Thankfully there has not been a massive shift in dynamic between Penny and yourself. She was grateful that you had freed Beatrice, and you had found the maturity to buck up your ideas about your innocuous infatuation, reasserting the perfectly good companionship you had.

 

Outside the badger sett-like common room there is a disconcerting amount of adolescents mingling about, filling the basement corridors. Right, quite a few invites had been snuck into the owlery for delivery at breakfast. About 25...

 

Ben clocks you, his tawny noggin the only thing you see as he slowly makes his way toward the front of the turnout. You greet him warmly, and you’re thrilled that he doesn’t stutter once. Ever since he had been _Imperiused_ he is determined to show his worth to not just you, but himself.

 

He quickly forgets your conversation when Penny holds up her records.

 

No Weird Sisters (to Rowan’s dismay), no Hobgoblins, or Bent-Winged Snitches (to Badeea’s disappointment).

 

Ben gasps, hands hovering over the record sleeves, “Cor, do you have ABBA? Or INXS?”

 

“Are you even speaking English anymore, Copper?” Diego teases, delighting in how pink the shy boy’s ears get.

 

Penny puts an arm around her sister and her muggle-born classmate, grinning, “I’ve got Queen, The Cure and Kate Bush.”

 

While music discussion goes on you’re doing a headcount, and there is a particular Ravenclaw that you pick out among your peers, snapping at Penny to get her attention, “Penny, it’s TALBOTT.”

 

The introverted wizard resembles more of a deer-in-wandlight than his avian Animagus form when you descend on him, elated that he had answered your invite. Tulip rescues her classmate from death by Hufflepuff swarm, but you catch his tiny smile.

 

The real corker is the deadly duo, Merula Snyde and Ismelda Murk, gracing the congregation with their presence. You nod to them, hoping your unspoken truce has remained intact. The Slytherin witches keep their barbs to a minimum, downgrading to playful banter. If Merula had been made Prefect you were sure she would’ve ratted you out to the faculty.

 

A palpable tension dissipates from the others, and Rowan spots the lingering third member of the Slytherin troop, dragging Barnaby into the bigger fray. You wave and he barely has a chance to wave back as your best friend absconds with him.

 

Butterflies linger in your stomach at the sight of him. You take a deep inhale and start your ascent from the castle basement.

 

The Marauder’s Map guides your wayward souls around the castle, trying to find suitable private locations. Merula warns you about where her Head of House usually catches kids up passed curfew, and you’re so preoccupied you almost go arse over tit when you run into...

 

Bugger. Mrs. Norris.

 

Every rotten student on Filch’s hit list conveniently congregating passed curfew. Christmas had come early.

 

Not be outdone, Tulip, Jae and Tonks make a shield wall in front of the feline. Each one is brandishing a weapon of choice. You recognize the signature dung bomb Tulip Karasu wields, and where had Tonks been hiding that box which surely contained a Fanged Frisbee? But Jae’s makes you nervous. Should you report that to the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes at the Ministry?

 

Alternatively, you contemplate _Accio_ -ing your Prefect Badge to cast  _Incendio_ on it. _Poof_ , up in flames.

 

Ismelda’s smile is manic, and you swear somewhere Salazar Slytherin is weeping joyously in his grave. “Finally. Blood will be shed.”

 

Merula closes her eyes, snorting. “Fuckin’ hell, Is. Let’s see if these twats really have what it takes for that noxious squib.”

 

When the elderly caretaker rounds on them, so sure of his victory, the dastardly trio unleash chaos.

 

Up until that point you’ve never heard a grown man scream bloody murder, not even when Professor Rakepick set Snape’s robes ablaze, and now you won’t soon forget it.

 

Tonks turns as she runs from the caretaker’s flailing figure, flipping him the v. “Jog on, Argus!”

 

Jae shoves his hands in his hoodie, pivoting on one heel like the coolest thing since cursed ice, Tulip gagging only slightly at the curdling smell of her bomb, quite pleased.

 

You all scatter, following your lead to a deserted hall, and you have to lean against someone, which ends up being Liz Tuttle. She shakes her head at you good-naturedly, and resumes discussing in depth with Charlie Weasley which dragon breeds have the best dispositions.

 

You’re not blind to the fact that she’d rather be the one babysitting your familiars (Hagrid heroically took up the mantel), but Charlie and a few others have begun their own inner circle of beastie fanatics, and you’ve become closer to her as well.

 

You brandish the Marauder’s Map in front of you, continuing to evade Snape and Filch at every turn through secret tunnels behind chastising tapestries and encouraging paintings, tears of laughter in your eyes until something...different appears on the enchanted parchment as you make your third round on the seventh floor of the school. A question mark that bleeds into the paper and quickly vanishes.

 

It’s just around the corner, across the hall from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.

 

“Oi, Lee, you ever wonder if your parents named you after him?” Merula says, unable to resist.

 

“Well yeah, of course I’d be named _after_ him. He was born before me,” Barnaby gives his friend a look like she's said something silly.

 

“Never change, B,” Andre claps him on the back, relishing in the witch's embarrassment at her feeble joke.

 

“I couldn’t if I tried, Tonks is the only one that’s a Metamorphmagus.”

 

You try your best not lose your collective shit, motioning for the raucous jostle of students to stop. The lot crowds around you and inspects the sudden appearance of a door that was definitely not there earlier.

 

Badeea is practically vibrating in glee at the prospect of a concealment magic that even teachers, that even ALBUS DUMBLEDORE, may not know about, though Rowan bristles at the notion.

 

“No, Headmaster Dumbledore knows about this place,” Rowan asserts, and you often admire her fealty to the wizard, “He must have a reason for not telling anyone about it.”

 

The group approaches the large barrier with you at the helm, another proverbial Vault to get through, though this one does not seem to be cursed. And in a strange deja vu moment Bill appears, seemingly out of nowhere, but instead of helping ward off enchanted ice he is halting your progress. A handful of other seventh years are with him, including the legendary Billingsley.

 

A groan rises up among your party ranks, and you flash him a sheepish grin as Charlie comes to your side in a show of solidarity.

 

“Bill, it’s been mental - and you know, with this going on the same time as your N.E.W.T.s, you’d be hard-pressed to disagree that if there’s somewhere to just _be_ it’d be fantastic,” his younger brother pleads, and You-Know-Who would be weak to resist those big baby blues.

 

There is a noticeable weight to William Weasley’s shoulders, a darkness under his eyes, but that Head Boy badge glitters with an even more powerful weight to what he’d been through thus far. This year has taken its toll on the brave, affable young man. Then, as all in attendance to this historical moment witness, he unfastens his Head Boy badge only to tuck it with care into a trouser pocket.

 

In a flash you saw Jacob where he stands, but it was so quick.

 

Bill gives you, as well as Charlie, a brotherly pinch to the cheek, turning to utter a counter-curse to see if the door was tampered with.

 

Then a counter-jinx.

 

Nothing. So the eldest wizard among them opens those doors into a large space that was unlit, until one by one sconces flicker to life by witches fire, revealing…

 

The perfect place for festivities.

 

Everyone cheers, patting Bill in unending gratitude.

 

Diego swans in, grabs you and yells out, “Penny, _amor_ , if you could provide me with some music?”

 

Penny is gobsmacked by the room still, so Beatrice snatches the turntable from her slack grip, picks an album and sets everything up with a proficiency that was startling for an 11-year-old. She must have done this a million times with her sister, and it seems like an altogether different kind of magic than you were used to as _somehow_ music began to pour out.

 

Her friends gather around it, awestruck.

 

You throw your head back, giggling as a fast-paced guitar riff and percussion encourage Diego to throw you around the floor, twirling and dipping you.

 

The others trickle through, shutting everyone in from a vengeful caretaker and nocturnal potions teacher prowling the halls. Libations and nosh are left on low tables near a grouping of plush couches (in varying hues of their houses) that face a gigantic fireplace.

 

In a snap Penny remembers herself, brandishing a bottle of Berry Ocky Rot to take a decent gulp, shoulders bunching up to her ears, offering it to Rowan. “C’mon, Ro. For academia?”

 

Rowan sucks at her teeth in hesitation, then something clicks at the other Hufflepuff’s words. She’s a scholar to the core, and the only reason she’d not take a drink is because of her O.W.L.s. But those are in the past. And if she doesn’t at least TRY a little bit of liquid offering (strictly for data), what kind of seeker of knowledge was she really?

 

So she necks it, stumbling back and barking out of laugh. “Bloody hell, that’s chronic.”

 

Merula relieves her of the bottle, smirking and calling the witch a lightweight without her usual venom, and expertly takes a drink of her own. Then she comes between you and Diego, “Oi, box of frogs for brains, off you pop.”

 

Diego lets you go, unflappable as always, and seamlessly moves on to a more-than-happy third year. Beatrice’s entourage goes wild.

 

Rowan and Merula then have a brief row, vying for your attention - you promise the Slytherin you’ll come back to her in a tick, and she stomps her foot. Tonks shadows behind her in a perfect doppelganger image, making a wank gesture, and you didn’t know Talbott Winger had the ability to guffaw. Which is  _adorable._

 

Merula isn’t even angry, she thinks it’s a decent likeness.

 

What an ego.

 

You’re plied with someone’s Elderflower wine that Ro has 'borrowed', which is refreshingly lethal, and your best friend is smiling so hard it reminds you of Peeves’s manic leering. “Who loves you most?”

 

Some wine dribbles down your chin, and you attempt to clean it up with the back of your hand, “You know my heart belongs to you, babe.”

 

“You’re gonna love me even more after tonight,” the witch promises ominously, taking the wine bottle back and necking it, “In fact...I’m going to reward myself. Y’know how? Snogging William Weasley and ruining him for all others.”

 

You bark out a hoarse laugh, unable to stop yourself. “When have you had the time to learn the finer mechanics of snogging?”

 

“When I manually got off with an apprentice wandmaker in a yew forest grove on my parents farm this past summer.”

 

“Aibell fuckin’ wept, I missed it all this year.”

 

You’ve never seen Rowan so fired up for anything, not even her exams. Alcohol brings out a whole side of her not obsessed with studies, rearranging her bra to accentuate what the young woman’s ancestors blessed her with. You watch, so glad that you had been able to heal the rift that nearly tore you apart. You hope to never face a boggart again as it would Rowan Khanna, crestfallen by your failures and walking away from you.

 

So as she approaches the seventh year in what she must think is a sexy sashay that is more of a limp to her intended target you whoop with all your might.

 

“Merlin’s left testicle!” Billingsley yelps shrilly, having bollocked up casting the _Bubble-Head Charm_ and instead cast it on his entire body, bouncing and banging into other students like a bubble induced nightmare. Bill spits a swig of Bungbarrel Spiced Mead onto an unsuspecting Emily Tyler (and though it puts a stopper on Rowan’s advances, Emily’s shock is poetic karma.).

 

In a knee-jerk reaction, fueled by a rare surge of courage, Ben nullifies the charm-gone-awry with a fortified, “ _Finite Incantatem_!”

 

Billingsley flops onto his back, groaning from the rough landing, but is otherwise unscathed.

 

The room grows mouse quiet until Jae bursts from the crowd, taking the muggle-born wizard’s arm like a champion, starting a chant of, “Copper, Copper!”

 

Everyone moves to hoist the Gryffindor in the air, and he was so red you were worried someone had shoved an acid pop in his mouth, but then for the first time in what seemed like forever...he was laughing. And not afraid.

 

Any sense of preservation dissolves from that point. You and Talbot run amok in your Animagus forms, eating an entire box of treats from Honeydukes that was left out, Merula and Bill challenge each other to a duel (which they find a surprisingly open, carpetless area for). Ismelda is either giving Billingsley bedroom eyes, or plotting his death. Tulip is taking bets from Jae and Andre on how many teachers Tonks can morph into under 60 seconds, Badeaa pulled canvases out of her arse and is trying to teach a few tipsy students about painting moving portraits. Meanwhile, Liz and Charlie are no longer engrossed in dragon lore, having moved on to attempting their best impressions of them.

 

You are incandescently happy, taking in the fleeting joy, and coax Diego into throwing shapes again. So you dance and dance, wondering if someone had used _Tarantallegra_ on you without your notice.

 

Jacob, your parents, Rakepick and Dumbledore are phantoms in the back of your mind, temporarily banished.

 

A new song from a record by - The Cure, was it? - starts to play, the singer _purring_ almost provocatively as the susurrus surrounds everyone. Penny surprises you by squealing in delight, shimmying her way over, seizing your wrists and proceeding to spin you around, mouthing the words.

 

_Into the sea_

_You and me_

_All these years and no one heard_

_I'll show you in spring_

_It's a treacherous thing_

_“We missed you," hissed the lovecats_

_“We missed you," hissed the lovecats_

 

The lyrics are ridiculous, and almost remind you Myron’s eccentric prose, but it is also infectious as you start to memorize some of the words, tipsily singing them out loud, turning back to back with the other witch until she gives a particularly hard hip bump, winking your way.

 

You lose your footing, letting out quite an unattractive snort, and are thankfully caught by somebody at the elbow.

 

Barnaby sends you a crooked grin, but there’s something else there that you can’t quite suss out with an addled brain.

 

Until you realize Ro, and even Merula, are encouraging him in varying degrees of excited to exasperated. 

 

Gears and cogs settle into place. You feel...

 

_Don’t you dare chuck up, Y/F/N Y/L/N._

 

A warmth spreads to your cheeks, and not just from the alcohol, as his wide fingers encase your own, the other hand slipping a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re alright,” he murmurs.

 

After that day in your brother’s hideaway you were fearful of rebounding too quickly, clinging to the first thing with a pulse to fill in as a romantic prospect when Penny fell to the wayside. You had re-focused all of your attention on school and the Vaults, on not allowing yourself any other moments of weakness.

 

Fate had other plans as, in the back of your mind, you turned over his words for hours on end. Being young, inexperienced, finding yourself...The magnetism drawing you two into each other’s orbit was tenfold from then on. Barnaby had begun to assist in caring for your creatures, learning more about one another, carefully weaving in stories about your parents, and your insecurities, your life after Hogwarts.

 

“You were spot on,” he continues, poking your nose in juxtaposition to the seriousness of his tone, “About me...about wanting to become more powerful so I can take on anything to protect the ones I care about. Which includes you. In fact, I care about you the most. You, Y/F/N Y/L/N. Not the Curse-breaker, or the cursed child, or Jacob’s sibling.  And I...I’ll never give up on that. If I could...make an Unbreakable Promise with you this very second I would.”

 

This slurred, unprepared speech has you choking back a sob, and you tilt your head up to slot your lips together in a salty, sloppy kiss that still makes you feel like you’re floating up above it all.

 

A sober part of you remembers he hadn’t outright said he liked you, and you stumble, apologizing profusely about your boldness.

 

Instead of allowing fickle words to fail him, Barnaby Lee picks you up by the hips and snogs you within an inch of your miserable life. Damn, he has a gorgeous mouth...

 

A charge runs through your nerves, toes curling in your Mary Janes.

 

Wolf whistles and catcalls are drown out by a blissful...silence.

 

\---

 

You wake up. And ‘ropey’ is putting it mildly to describe the state of you.

 

It must be morning. Thank whoever omnipresent was listening that it was the weekend.

 

This is not the dorms. You hadn’t made it back to bed last night.

 

_Piss._

 

When you attempt to take a peek at the post-party damage, thankful for the low lighting to save you from an awful blinding headache, you have trouble moving. A well-muscled arm pins you down, and it’s a chest pressing up against your back.

 

_B…_

 

His breath snuffles baby hairs at the nape of your neck. It’s pleasant. Cozy. Ironically, the best sleep you’ve had in months. No dreams. You must be laying on one of those plush couches, essentially spooning. You wiggle, to get more comfy, the arm tightening around your waist.

 

_Mmm, be real with yourself Y/L/N, this is more than pleasant...._

 

That train of thought comes to a screeching halt.

 

Bill is hovering over the form of Charlie on the floor, bundled in a mysteriously procured throw blanket, pride in his eyes. He pads toward a soundly slumbering Rowan on a couch across the way, leaning down to buss her forehead, and when he  turns around catches your gaze. You let your eyelids slip shut, feigning going back to bed too late, and beats later fingertips graze your temple.

 

_I'm going to miss you so much Bill._

 

Another Albus Dumbledore pearl of wisdom drifts up from your conscious, accepting you had stayed too long in the past and forgotten the incredible present.

 

_“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.”_


End file.
